


[Torn Piece of Noble's Robe]

by julads



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - World of Warcraft Fusion, BDSM, Knotting, M/M, Rape Fantasy, Semi-Public Sex, Werewolf Sex, Worgen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7632580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julads/pseuds/julads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan blows it with taking care of Kyle's crops, so Kyle demands he make it up to him by indulging his rape fantasy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[Torn Piece of Noble's Robe]

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, the werewolf rape fantasy fic. Inspiration for werewolf!Stan thanks to [shiloh](http://kvles.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> This is another goofy _World of Warcraft_ story and takes place at the beginning of _Mists of Pandaria_. However, this story isn't in the same universe as my other [WoW/SP fics](http://archiveofourown.org/series/510067). Here, Stan and Kyle were born in Years -3 and -2, respectively, so they're a little older, but more importantly, Stan is from Gilneas and has been afflicted by the Worgen curse!

The Kirin Tor was holding a three day conference in Dalaran about magic use in the recently rediscovered Pandaria, and so, Archmage Kyle, Director of Flora and Fauna Research, was really counting on his boyfriend, Lieutenant Commander Marsh, to take care of his crops at Sunsong Ranch. It was imperative that Kyle’s crops get harvested and replanted and watered, as he had this all running on a very finely tuned schedule, and Stan loved Kyle, didn’t he, so, he had to do it. Kyle didn’t make the rules. If Stan didn’t have time, then he had to make time.  _“Believe me,”_ Kyle had said, _“I’m not asking you to do this because it’s convenient for me. I’d do it myself if I could – I already have to go all the way to the Silken Fields to make Imperial Silk every day. So please understand that this is actually really painful for me.”_ He had said this with a really tearful expression, and Stan groaned and said, _“Fine. Just tell me what to do,”_ and Kyle whipped out a pen and began writing instructions that spelled everything out in excruciating, Stan-specific detail. For example:

  * Even though I do have the ultrasonic pest repellant system installed, you may still encounter vermin. _It is very important that you kill them._ For the love of Antonidas, Stan, just fucking do it. They are not “bunnies,” okay, they are filthy, vile little pests, and they want to destroy my crops. Kill them. Do not pick them up and take them somewhere – they will come back. Also, they’ll probably bite you if you do that. But maybe that would convince you to kill them, in which case, go for it. But no, seriously, kill them.
  * DO NOT charge at the weeds and begin hacking away like a maniac! This is a nursery, not a battleground! Yes, some of these weeds are massive and eerily reminiscent of C’Thun’s tentacles, but don’t you dare stomp all over my precious Songbells and cacti trying to kill them!



So, entrusting Stan with his crops, Kyle spent three days back in Dalaran listening to Kirin Tor historians and diplomats discuss what they had learned from the few Pandaren magic users. That in and of itself was a point of contention – how intelligent could these bear-like creatures really be if so few of them utilized the arcane? _“That’s so rude! It’s a completely different culture!”_ Archmage Wendy protested when Craig suggested that the Pandaren probably couldn’t keep themselves from overindulging in magic, if their relationship with food were any indication. Kyle thought this was really funny, but he stopped laughing when he remembered he’d gained a few pounds thanks to the Pandarens’ constant food-pushing. That was what happened when your job now had you flying around the continent talking to furry provincials about local plant life – they invited you to their house and fed you. And fed you. And fed you. So, while Kyle couldn’t say he respected the Pandaren, he couldn’t hate them, either. But maybe he could if he thought about his weight while looking at Wendy, who was skinny and hot.

Thinking about furry provincials, however, it occurred to Kyle as he was sitting here, no longer listening to Wendy, that he was actually _dating_ a furry provincial. This was a totally different thing, though: whereas the Pandaren were way too much like actual bears to ever be sexy, Stan Marsh, a Gilnean afflicted with the Worgen curse, was the hottest thing Kyle had ever laid eyes on in all his thirty-two years. Or, rather, thirty-one years, since they had met last year during the week-long celebration of the Fall of Deathwing. Kyle had had quite a lot of Hearthglen Ambrosia that night, so he was drunk enough to go over and introduce himself. Then when Kyle heard Stan’s classy Gilnean accent and discovered he was afflicted, well, it was pretty much over for him at that point. They ended up having sex that night, on the floor of the living room of Kyle’s apartment in Dalaran, and then they spent the rest of the celebration fucking and getting to know each other and finding out they both hated the same things, like that jousting craze the previous year. Then on the final day of the festivities, Kyle got Stan to fuck him while in Worgen form, and he came so hard it gave him a whole new perspective on sex. There just wasn’t any coming back from that. Kyle was getting horny just thinking about it. Yeah, he really lucked out. Stan was great. And he was even tending Kyle’s crops! Kyle was so lucky.

Assuming, you know, that Stan had followed Kyle’s instructions. Surely he had, though – he knew how important Kyle’s harvest schedule was. So, surely, Kyle’s crops were fine; surely Stan had harvested three days’ worth of Motes of Harmony and Windwool Cloth from the Songbells and Windshear Cacti that Kyle instructed him to plant. Yet on the morning after the conference, when Kyle arrived back in Pandaria and was about to head to Kun Lai to continue tracking Snow Blossoms, he thought, well, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go check. Just, real quick. That way, he could also make a bolt of Imperial Silk, which would put him one day closer to crafting those sexy Pandaren robes that would show off his collarbone and hopefully make his ass look good, too. Well, they’d better; he was banking on those ornate Pandaren designs spelling out “breed me” across his ass. Otherwise, what was the point? What was the point of anything if he had to go check on his crops because he had entrusted their care to someone who might well turn a blind eye to vermin? 

It was one of Kyle’s biggest frustrations, feeling that he couldn’t depend on people to do things right. The depressing reality was that other people were, in fact, largely incompetent. All too often, Kyle was left wrangling with the effects of this, which only confirmed in his mind that if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. The thing was, though, that that wasn’t always possible – as powerful as Kyle was, he was still only one person; he could only do so much botany research in a day. He wanted to be able to depend on people to say, not pick fights with the opposing faction over herbs, Jason, you fucking idiot, no, I’m not writing this up as a work-related injury, are you fucking kidding me? Stan obviously wasn’t as bad as Jason or Dogpoo, but he did still occasionally fail at things, like hitting Kyle’s prostate properly or making his stupid army schedule work so that they could go to Moonglade for the Lunar Festival. That had been a serious disappointment, and Kyle missed out on this year’s limited edition robes, which were exactly the same as all previous years’ robes, but that was beside the point. Anyway, remembering that really stung, and Kyle was therefore impelled to soar down on his Frosty Flying Carpet to his farm at Sunsong Ranch in the Valley of the Four Winds.

What he found was worse than he could have ever imagined. At first, he almost thought he had the wrong plot, but nope, this was his, with the little sign that said “Archmage Kyle” in purple paint. And yet there were two massive weed tentacles sashaying aggressively in the morning light; there were half a dozen vermin chomping on his Songbells, which were torn and dehydrated; and on top of all that, the ultrasonic pest repellent was running haywire, spraying little electric sparks all over the place. This was… horrific! Inexcusable! Inconceivable! A complete fucking disaster, worse than Stan had ever dropped the ball, ever! Oh, he was gonna get it! He was gonna fucking _get_ it, that asshole!

Kyle felt like a crazy person as he battled the towering weeds and screeching vermin, lunging Fireballs at them with ferocity and carelessness. He looked like a crazy person, too, because he was screaming as he did this, and also maybe crying a little bit. Well, maybe a lot; maybe he was even dry heaving into his hands as he sat in the charred remnants of what was once his precious little farm and wondered why Stan hated him so much. Oh gods, it hurt; it hurt so much being deceived and forsaken by someone who claimed to love you, and Kyle cried bitter tears into his filthy hands and prayed nobody would come by and see him like this.

He sat there for a while longer in the husk of former glory, a king grieving in the remains of his fallen empire. But his sorrow evaporated, boiling into uncontrollable, seething rage at the one who had disgraced him. Shaking and panting, he hopped back on his magic carpet and bee-lined it straight to Thunder Hold in the Jade Forest.

Right there on the roof of the hold Kyle spotted Stan talking to some people. He flew down in front of him and shouted, “Hey, asshole! Guess where I just was!”

“Kyle!” Stan yelped. “What’re you doing here?!”

Before Kyle could say anything, Cartman piped up and said, “Oy, Kyle, what’re you bitching about today? A sandworm crawl up your vagina and die? You get BV from it?” He laughed at this.

Nope, not today, Kyle wasn’t putting up with this shit today. He immediately dismounted from his carpet and marched up to the dwarf, towering over him as he barked out in spit-ridden, staccato growls, “Say one more _fucking_ word to me, and I will cook you alive inside that fucking armor. Don’t _fucking_ test me, Cartman – I’ll do it, I’ll fucking do it, I’ll kill you, I’ll—”

Just then, Stan put his hands on Kyle’s shoulders and took him aside with sternness that incensed Kyle even more. Cartman laughed again, and that was it, Kyle was going to blast his fucking face off. Shrieking, he attempted to chuck a Fire Blast at the dwarf, except by now Stan was forcibly restraining Kyle and trying to get the staff out of his hands.

“Knock it off, Kyle, fuck!” Stan said.

Kyle was seeing red now, maybe literally, like maybe he’d popped a blood vessel in his eye, or maybe he was having an aneurysm or something. “Fuck you!” he screamed as Stan carried him down the steps into the hold. “You ruined my fucking farm, Stan! You promised me you’d take care of it, you asshole! You lied to me, you _fucking_ _lied_ to me!! Fuck you!!” By the end of this, Kyle had burst out in angry, choked sobs that were only interspersed by his saying, _“Fuck you!”_ or, _“You asshole!”_

Inside the hold, in the dark, crumbling corridor, Stan set Kyle down and said in a very serious voice, “You need to stop.” Then, evenly and slowly, he said, “I couldn’t harvest your crops because I was fighting the sha almost continuously the past three days. I’ve barely _slept_ the past three days. Look, I’m sorry about your farm, I really am, but I couldn’t just leave. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

“Then you shouldn’t have promised me you would!” Kyle shouted, jerking away from Stan.

“Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t have,” Stan said, grimacing.

“So why the fuck did you?!”

“Can you please stop yelling? Please?” Stan asked weakly.

In a low, guttural voice, Kyle repeated, “Why did you make a promise you couldn’t keep?”

“Because I didn’t know then that I wouldn’t be able to.”

“Well, thanks, Stan. Thanks a lot,” Kyle spat with heady disdain. “Really appreciate you ruining my farm, really happy about you screwing me over like this, you _dick._ ”

“Okay, well,” Stan began, “I’m sorry about your farm, but don’t you think you’re being a bit cruel here?”

“Cruel!” Kyle echoed in a shrieking, banshee voice. “Cruel!? Ha, ha, ha, oh gods, Stan, you – you don’t know what cruel is, okay. Cruel is when you bust your ass for the Kirin Tor every day of your fucking life and people still snicker behind your back and call you Archmage Alchemist, as if your work doesn’t _explicitly benefit_ them. Cruel is when your boyfriend promises he’ll do something for you but doesn’t, doesn’t even give you a heads up and tell you that he can’t do it; he just lets you show up at your farm and find out everything’s fucked. _That’s_ cruel.” Upon stating this, Kyle burst out into tears all over again, crying into his hands and taking big sucking breaths through them. “The vermin ate my Songbells!! My farm, Stan, my farm is _ruined!_ How am I going to get Motes of Harmony now? Where am I going to get Windwool Cloth? How am I going to do anything anymore!?” He sniffed powerfully, sucking all the mucus back up into his head. Then, in between crackly sobs, he managed to sputter out, “I’m ruined, my farm’s ruined, my whole life’s ruined! Ooh gods, Stan, what am I going to do about _my fucking farm!?_ ”

“Kyle,” Stan said, putting a hand on Kyle’s shoulder which he immediately shrugged off. “I’ll do whatever it takes to fix your farm.”

“It’s not fixable! I told you, it’s ruined!”

“How is it ‘ruined’?” Stan asked. “Can’t you just replant everything?”

“No I can’t just replant everything! I’m going to have it all dug out and refumigated!” Kyle said, huffing. “And who knows when I’ll even be able to get that done, since they take fucking forever to do anything over there.” His voice began to tremble towards the end.

“Oh,” Stan said. “Well. I’m very sorry.”

“Yeah, well, ‘sorry’ doesn’t fix my farm, Stan.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Stan ceded. He sighed and said, “Listen, I have to get back to work, and then I have to sleep. But I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow, okay?”

Scoffing, Kyle said, “Whatever,” feeling really offended and vulnerable now that he was being abandoned, too. Fresh tears began pricking his eyes, and he didn’t bother holding them in.

Stan apologized again, but Kyle was out of here: he flung out his Frosty Flying Carpet and zipped up the stairs out of the hold, plugging his ears just in case Cartman shouted something at him – it would’ve been too much to bear.

* * *

The next evening, Stan knocked on the door of Kyle’s room in the Shrine of Seven Stars. “Kyle, come on. I know you’re in there,” he pleaded.

Kyle almost shouted back, _“How? Who told you?”_ but that would be stupid, so he sat perfectly still in the tub and reminded himself that his farm had cost 4,500 gold to fix.

“Please talk to me?” Stan begged. “I’m sorry about your farm.”

Yeah, yeah.

Stan gave up not long after that, and then later, after Kyle was dressed, he spotted a slip of paper in front of his door. Written in familiar scrawl, the note read:

_Dear Kyle,_

_I am very sorry about your farm and hope you can forgive me because I love you very much and hate when you are mad at me even though I deserve it. So maybe you just want to be mad at me for awhile longer? That is ok. But maybe you would like to celebrate Midsummer Fire Festival soon?_

_Very sorry about your farm. Hope you were able to get it fixed and if it cost gold please let me know._

_Love,_  
_Stan_

_P.S. VERY SORRY!!_

Kyle rolled his eyes at the “if it cost gold” bit. As if you could pay for things in rays of sunshine or smiles! But the line that irritated him most was the one about him wanting to continue to be mad – it was too… knowing. It also seemed to imply that such a response was petty, and Kyle wouldn’t have that. So the day after next when Stan came knocking on his door again, Kyle tried to remember the note so as to hold out longer, but it was day three of this and he was starting to get bored, and also, he had been sort of lazily jerking off while eating Tangy Yogurt, so he got up and hobbled to the door with a huge and obvious boner tenting his robes.

“Hey,” Kyle said when he opened the door no more than two inches.

“Oh! Kyle!” Stan said almost sheepishly. “Um. Hey.” He was standing in the hallway with a gigantic sack in his arms.

“What’s that.”

“Windwool Cloth. For you.” He lifted the sack up a little, looking so hopeful and boyish that Kyle’s icy heart melted a little.

“Oh. That’s… very nice of you, thank you,” he said. “Come in.”

Inside, Stan tried to give Kyle the sack of cloth, but Kyle had him to set it on down the floor. Then he plopped down on the sofa and pressed his legs together and said, “I hope this isn’t how you were expecting to make it up to me.”

Stan, who was just sort of standing there in the middle of the room, said, “Oh, no, I just thought you probably needed cloth now that, uh, your farm has, uh. You know.”

“It cost me 4,500 gold to fix my farm,” Kyle said.

“Seriously?! That much?!”

“Mmhmm.”

“Gods, I’m so sorry!” Stan said. “Listen, I’m gonna pay you back. It might take me a while, but I promise I’ll pay you back every last copper.”

Kyle rolled his eyes and said, “Look, I don’t care about the gold. There’s something else I want.”

“What?”

Kyle cleared his throat and then as casually as possible said, “I want you to rape me.”

“…Excuse me?”

Scoffing, Kyle clarified, “Not _actually_ rape me – just, you know, pretend to. Or whatever.” He flicked his hand in the air. “No bullshit though – it has to feel real.”

Stan was very clearly concerned, which was potentially irritating. Then he asked, “But why?”

“Because it’s what I want, that’s why!” Kyle said, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling his face getting a little hot. Ugh! What an unsexy conversation!

This was when Stan finally sat down with him on sofa. “So what would this entail?” he asked tentatively.

“Look, if you don’t want to do it, just say so,” Kyle muttered.

“No, I do,” Stan said, then added, “So long as it’s pretend. And I don’t have to like, hurt you or anything.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Would you do it even if you hadn’t ruined my farm?”

Stan scrunched his thick eyebrows. “I… guess? If you wanted me to?” he said. “What is it you want me to do, anyway?”

Narrowing his eyes at him, Kyle asked, “You’re sure you want to hear?”

“Yeah. Tell me.”

“Okay. So,” Kyle began, “it’s the middle of winter, and I’m walking through the forest at night trying to get home – home being Dalaran back when it was in Alterac – so I’m like, eighteen or something, and I’m not as powerful as I am now. I mean, I was still pretty powerful back then, just not _as_ powerful.” He paused to eye Stan, who looked extremely serious but did end up saying, “Yeah.”

Kyle continued: “So, anyway, eighteen-year-old me is walking through the forest, keeping an eye out for any dangerous creatures. I’m pretty scared, right, and I’m all alone and hearing all kinds of sounds in the woods, like twigs snapping and stuff. I keep telling myself it’s just animals and that I can take on a bear or wolf or something easily. What I’m really afraid of is _feral Worgen_.”

“But there weren’t any there then,” Stan interrupted to say.

It occurred to Kyle that this was correct, and he was really annoyed to have a plot hole pointed out in his sex fantasy. “Well, just pretend there were!”

“Okay.”

“ _Anyway_ , as I’m going through these dark and spooky woods, I start getting the feeling that I’m being watched. So I start Blinking ahead faster and faster, and I’m just like, oh my gods, why didn’t I stock up on Runes of Teleportation, fuck, I’m such an idiot! But then, all of the sudden, this huge black Worgen pops up out of nowhere and just _lunges_ at me! He’s got me pinned to the ground, right, and then he says, ‘Walking all alone at night, little mage?’ He’s licking his lips, and like, rubbing his enormous wolf cock on me, right, and I’m super fucking scared, but somehow I manage to get away from him. That really pisses him off though, and he starts coming after me, and I’m freaking out trying to get away, chucking Fire Balls and Fire Blasts at him over my shoulder. But he’s gaining on me, and then, just when he’s about to catch me, I cast Ice Block on myself, and he bangs his head on the ice I’m encased in, which _really_ pisses him off. Then once the ice melts, he immediately snatches me up in his claws and says, ‘You’re gonna get it now, little mage,’ and then he pushes me down into the dirt and just, you know. Sticks his dick in me.”

Stan’s brow remained furrowed. “Then what happens?”

“Well. He fucks me while I cry and say stuff like, ‘Stop! I’m a virgin!’ But obviously he doesn’t stop – I mean, he probably couldn’t if he tried at that point.” Kyle flicked a piece of imaginary lint off his robes so as to draw attention to his erection, which was very evident beneath the bunched-up cloth.

Stan didn’t seem to notice, however; he just looked sort of perplexed, although it was possible he was breathing a little harder. “So you want me to be the Worgen in this story?”

“Yes.”

“We’d do this inside though, right?” Stan asked.

“Uh, no. We’d do it in the woods at night.”

Stan looked at a loss. “Kyle,” he began in a very serious tone, “if someone sees this happening, they’ll think I’m attacking you.”

“So we’ll do it somewhere secluded!”

“That area’s really bad to begin with, though. Someone might think I’m one of Arugal’s Worgen.”

“Then we’ll do it somewhere else! Like Feralas or Ashenvale or something,” he said, beginning to feel really ridiculous here, partly because he really hadn’t thought this through in practical terms.

“I don’t know, Kyle,” Stan said, frowning. “I just feel like this has a chance of going horribly wrong. Are you sure we can’t do it inside?”

“Ugh, I’d have to come up with a whole new story then!”

“What about Little Red Riding Hood?” Stan suggested.

“Are you kidding me? The story’s fucking idiotic! I’m not so stupid as to confuse a Worgen for my _grandmother_ , gods.”

“I wasn’t saying you were stupid.”

“I know, but. Look, whatever,” Kyle said, grunting. “Now I have to come up with a whole new scenario. I’ve been masturbating to that one for like, months.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes?”

Then Stan asked, “But you were thinking of it as pretend, right? I mean, you don’t actually want a feral Worgen to rape you. Right?”

“Of course not! Gods, Stan!” Kyle exclaimed. “It’s like you suddenly don’t understand sex games anymore!”

“No, I do,” Stan said, “and I understand this one, sort of. Or, I get why it appeals to you, at least.”

“Yes, well, it does. It does appeal to me,” Kyle said, continuing to feel pretty embarrassed.

“So I’ll do it,” Stan said, earnestly, “just as long as it’s indoors.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll have to think of something.” Then Kyle declared, “Anyway, let’s have sex now, too.”

“What, like, regular sex?” Stan asked.

“Yes, of course,” Kyle said quickly, but when Stan did not immediately change forms, he added, “Not _that_ regular!”

“Don’t you want to make out a little bit first?”

“Umm. Not really, no,” Kyle said, not entirely sure why Stan was asking this. “Maybe afterwards. Or some other time.”

“Oh. Well, alright then,” Stan said. Then he got up, took off his boots and gauntlets, and proceeded to change into his Worgen form: his body seemed overtaken by some ancient, primal essence, one he wrestled with as his limbs became longer, stronger, and hairier; as his hands and feet morphed into clawed paws; and as his face contorted into a long, dark canine snout, laden with a wet nose, sharp teeth, and a long tongue.

“Uh. Hey,” he said, his voice now a lot huskier.

Kyle, who had spread out limply on the couch, threw out his arm and said, “Take me to bed.”

So Stan picked him up and did just that.

* * *

“Okay, so, new plan,” Kyle announced, breathlessly, as Stan was fucking him. “You chase me into some farmhouse, push me into the corner and then – _ahh_ – then you flip me around and pull my skirt up so my ass is exposed—”

His tongue lolling out over the side of his mouth, Stan squeezed his eyes shut and whined, then began pounding into Kyle almost mechanically.

And Bingo was his name-o.

Kyle went on: “It’s winter, and you want to fuck this ass so bad; you spread it apart and bend me over, drooling for it.” In his ass, Stan’s knot thickened and throbbed, and Kyle’s legs were swampy with sweat, tangled up in Stan’s hairier ones. “And then you just sink your massive cock into me, no prep, no nothing, and start giving me a good, hard wolf dicking—”

Stan made a sound then that started out as a whine but morphed into a growl, rumbling long and low from deep in his throat. Leaning down and covering Kyle entirely with his massive wolven body, he fucked him hard and fast, panting and growling wildly against his neck. Now this was what Kyle was talking about: he could feel Stan’s knot inside him even more acutely, and knowing that Stan couldn’t pull out even if he wanted to made Kyle positively throb. He tugged on his cock between their bodies, his mind wandering to the thought of himself on the forest floor, his robes tattered and his ass all scratched up as he was used even more fiercely than this, bred by a wild animal driven insane by the primal urge to fuck.

Kyle came overwhelmingly hard, shuddering and sobbing as his orgasm pummeled him over and over again, as ejaculate pulsed from his cock in tremendous globs, as Stan continued to pound his ass raw. He still hadn’t completely recovered when, about a minute later, Stan was jerking into him with desperate, sporadic thrusts, nearly whimpering in a distinctly canine yet almost heartbreaking way before he was groaning out this low and uneven reverberating sound as he unloaded into Kyle’s ass. His whole body trembling, Stan stayed put, holding himself up so as to not drop his full weight onto Kyle. The knot would take a minute or two to go down. Kyle squeezed around him, feeling it, and Stan whined, the sound quickly swallowed up by short little huffs from his nose.

“I missed you,” Stan said in a small voice, hiding his face.

Kyle thought about this. Had he missed Stan? Maybe, sort of. What he really missed was his farm. Better not bring that up now though. His farm would be okay – maybe they were even working on it right now. Otherwise, he was going to have to go down there and cause a scene. That would certainly get things moving, though. _“Slow down”_ his fucking ass! Next time he heard a Pandaren say that, he was going to lose it.

Anyway, so that Stan wouldn’t get all moody, Kyle said he had missed him, too, even though it was really more like he had missed his dick, which was sort of the same thing, so whatever. He figured Stan just wanted confirmation that he wasn’t mad anymore, and he wasn’t, really; he was more just kind of perturbed when he thought about it and also anxious that Stan wouldn’t follow through properly with his rape scenario. However, it was clear that Stan had been pretty damn receptive to Kyle’s new scenario, and, you know, let’s be real here: he’d probably thought Kyle’s original story was hot, too; he just wasn’t admitting it because he was weird about stuff, like people thinking he was feral. It was a baseless fear, though – afflicted Gilneans had been fighting alongside the Alliance for a year now; people were used to seeing Worgen out and about, and the army was more than glad for their increased strength and speed on the battlefield.

At that point, Stan slipped out, then, still panting, he flopped over and lay next to Kyle. Kyle turned to look at Stan, who was gazing at him with an expression pure love, the kind dogs have for their masters, and he found himself smiling despite himself.

“You look good,” Stan said.

“Ugh. I’m sure I don’t.”

“Well you look good to me.”

“Thanks,” Kyle mumbled. In reality, Stan was the one who looked good, really good and really hot, all the time. Kyle wasn’t sure how he had tricked this guy into falling in love with him, but he was determined to hold onto Stan for the rest of his days.

* * *

It was ten days before Stan and Kyle had overlapping days off. By then, at least, Kyle’s new plan had been firmly solidified, every detail hammered out: after dinner, they would take a portal to the crater where the magi city of Dalaran used to be, in the Alterac Mountains, on the edge of Hillsbrad Foothills; then Stan would scamper off to the woods while Kyle walked around and got scared; then Stan would pop out and start chasing Kyle to this old abandoned fishing shack along Lordamere Lake, and so on and so forth. Kyle had had to agree not to cast spells at Stan, even though he’d make sure to miss, obviously. That was a bummer. Kyle had accused Stan of saying he had bad aim; Stan had pleaded that he just didn’t want to immolate, that was all. Fine, Kyle had said snottily before suggesting he only cast Frost or Arcane spells, but that didn’t go over well either, so there was no spellcasting allowed. There was no screaming allowed, either. This was all really doing a number on the realism, and Kyle had told Stan, _“You better be brutal when you fuck me then!”_ He couldn’t say ‘rape’ either! Ugh, Stan was the biggest softie who had ever… softed. That wasn’t a verb, but if anybody could make it one, it was Stan Marsh.

Well, whatever, Stan had better perform. He seemed clear on the instructions, at least, so Kyle was now allowing himself to get excited about this. He was wearing some old robes he’d dug out from a trunk in his apartment in Dalaran, and no underwear. The robes were old but nice, a soft lavender color with darker accents. It was just that they didn’t fit right and never had, so he’d never really worn them. And now they were going to get torn up!

“I’m so excited,” Kyle said as he hopped around his room in the Shrine like a night elf. “I’m so excited,” he repeated, having to bite his tongue to keep from following up with, _“I’m going to get raped!”_ Because then Stan would’ve said, _“Well, I’m not actually raping you – you want this,”_ and then Kyle would’ve been annoyed.

“Just keep an eye out for other people,” Stan said for the hundredth time, “and give the signal if you do.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyle said, but, really, who were they going to come across? If it was an ogre cruising down from the ruins of Alterac, then Kyle would just kill it. Who else would be swarming around this area? Nobody. Kyle had gone to scope everything out a couple days ago. It was fine. He had also aired out the fishing shack and got it to smell sort of semi-decent with some candles. It didn’t smell _good_ , but hopefully the weird smell would add to the gross aesthetic he was shooting for here.

“And don’t forget,” Kyle warned Stan before creating the portal to Old Dalaran, “don’t actually stop if I say ‘stop’! Only stop if I say ‘Mageweave.’”

“I know, I know.”

So Kyle created a portal to where Dalaran used to be, in the Alterac Mountains. They arrived at the massive crater, which was still pulsing with swathes of purple arcane energies, and Stan, still in his human form, ran off up into the hills. Alone now, Kyle trudged through the wet grass down towards the lake. It was about a mile or so to the fishing shack. The night was clear, cloudless, and in the sky, The White Lady, halved, shone brightly over the lake. It would’ve been scarier if it were darker and if they were doing this in Silverpine Forest, but at least there was a smattering of mist rolling across the lake. Plus, the squabbles of murloc on the Dawning Isles were mingling together to create a cacophony that was potentially eerie instead of merely annoying. So, small blessings?

As Kyle walked very, very slowly towards the fishing shack, he looked up into the hills and wondered if there were eyes staring back at him. With his ears pricked, he stared hard up into the dark trees, feeling neither scared nor aroused, which made him pretty unhappy – not even angry, just bitter and disappointed and a little cold. What kind of sex game was this! A pretty bad one so far. Kyle scoffed and tapped his foot – into the mud, as it would turn out. Great. Great. This was what he got for being “nice” and “compromising”! Next time, he wasn’t going to make concessions; next time, it would be his way or no way. Fuck, he couldn’t get what he wanted in real life, so why couldn’t he get what he wanted in his sex life? Maybe he should strip and be a nubile young virgin skinny dipping in the lake? Well, the water was probably freezing, that was why.

Grumbling, he began shuffling along again, his shoes pretty wet now, and – did he just hear something? He looked up in the trees but saw nothing. Gripping his staff a little tighter, he wondered if that fishing shack still smelled okay. At least thinking about being brutally fucked in there was a turn-on. Not as good as being pushed down into the dirt in the middle of the woods, but, you know, fucking concessions and all that.

Just then, Kyle saw a huge black shadow out of the corner of his eye then felt the impact of a loud _thud_ right behind him. When he turned around, he saw a huge dark Worgen towering over him and breathing hard.

And then Kyle was scared. For a moment, he completely forgot this was Stan; Kyle just stood there, frozen, staring up at the fearsome creature, who then said in a deep, familiar voice that went straight to Kyle’s dick: “Where are you going, little mage?”

“I…” was all Kyle could get out. His fear felt legitimate, palpable – a delightful surprise. He could have praised Stan for pulling through if he weren’t rendered speechless by his performance, craving more of it.

The beast snarled then. Kyle ran, and Stan dashed after him, growling menacingly – deliciously – right on Kyle’s tail. Then, just before they were at the old shack, Kyle decided to fall on purpose, landing in the mud and causing Stan to tumble down over him, which actually hurt and wasn’t very sexy, but then, almost at once, Stan was right on top of him, growling and humping his ass with his erection.

Kyle, extremely hard himself now, tearfully whined out, “Oh no, please, Mr. Wolf, please, no!!”

The Worgen, grunting in a purely dog-like manner as he humped Kyle into the mud, put his nose right up against the side of Kyle’s head and panted, hotly. “Gonna breed you, little mage.”

This was intensely arousing yet not actually all that dissimilar to regular dirty talk, and Kyle totally forgot he was supposed to be trying to get away. “No, no, please don’t!” he cried, attempting to struggle, though it was purely for effect, and he was glad that Stan wouldn’t let him budge, only continued to hump him and breathe hot dog breath on his neck. So Kyle tried for real to get away, really struggling now. He did actually manage to scramble away, getting really muddy in the process, and ran with only one shoe, proceeding to Blink right past the shack, farther down the shore.

Right behind him, Stan shouted, “Hey! Where are you going?!” and Kyle was thrilled to hear the irritation in his voice.

Resisting the urge to chuck fire spells back for performative effect, Kyle Blinked forward again, thinking he would have made some headway on Stan, but when he looked over his shoulder, Stan was just a few feet behind him. So Kyle cast Ice Block on himself, surrounding his body in a huge chunk of ice that Stan crashed into, yelping like a puppy as he tumbled into a heap of hairy limbs at Kyle’s feet. From inside the ice, Kyle watched Stan pull himself up out of the mud with a groan and then stare down at him in a way that made Kyle’s dick throb, which was painful, since he was encased in ice. Then the ice melted, and before Kyle was able to Blink away again, Stan had snatched him up and was now carrying him under his arm back to the shed. Kyle kicked and screamed and was quickly muffled with a huge clawed paw. A tantalizing mix of fear, arousal, and anticipation surged through him – Stan had never handled him with this kind of force, ever. It was great, ugh, it was so great: Kyle was at his mercy, being taken back to the gross fishing hut. He began shouting and struggling again, and the Worgen jogged the rest of the way to the shack, the door of which he had to slouch to enter.

The shack smelled bad again, not just fish bad, but damp and weird bad, with only the vaguest overlay of Kyle’s candles. Then, almost too gently, Stan set Kyle down on the floor, which was covered in crackly old tarp or some similar material. The single window was so dirty that no one could see through it, but fuzzy moonlight streamed in weakly, enough for Kyle to see the outline of Stan, who was standing there, the closed door to his back.

“What are you waiting for?” Kyle asked, trying to sound scared but hearing the impatience very clearly in his voice. So he shuddered on purpose, making some frightened breathy noises as he inched away into the corner.

With a frustrated growl, the Worgen shook his head like Stan did when he got out of the shower, flicking drops of water onto Kyle before stomping over and taking him by the arm. “Get on your knees,” he grunted.

But Kyle stayed still, wanting Stan to force him onto the floor, shred his robes while he did it. “Uh… No?”

“It’s not a request!” Stan spat in a way that was more drill sergeant, less wild animal. But Kyle still didn’t move; he just stood there in the corner, extremely turned on, his dick drooling against his silk robes.

So Stan grabbed him and put him on the floor himself. Kyle was delighted. He laid on the gross, damp tarp, yelping when his legs were propped up and he felt the Worgen’s hard cock grinding between his cheeks, particularly around his hole. The friction created by the silk made him feel insane, and he moaned, absolutely intoxicated all over again. “No, no, no, please no, Mr. Wolf, please, don’t!” he sobbed. “I’m only eighteen! I’m a – _a virgin!!”_ Then he pushed his ass up higher, his cock hanging heavily between his legs, weeping and aching to be touched.

Stan actually squeezed it with his paw, the pads of which were so hot, and said, gruffly, “Seems like you like this, little mage.”

“No, I don’t!” Kyle protested, grinding his ass up and down on Stan’s cock.

“Knock it off!” Stan ordered, tightening his grip on Kyle’s hips and pressing his claws in a little more when Kyle still didn’t stop. Growling, Stan said, “Fuck, you little slut. You _want_ to be bred, don’t you? We’ll see how you like it when my knot’s in you.” With a swift slash, Stan shredded the bottom half of Kyle’s robes, and Kyle bit the inside of his mouth to keep from moaning like a whore. Then he said, fuck it, and moaned like a wanton whore anyway. He let himself be overwhelmed: by the chill of the air on his exposed, sweat-slicked skin, especially over his perineum; by the sound of his vanquisher spitting into his paw then jerking his cock; by the fact that he was about to be bred by a feral Worgen not a mile from home, where the extent of his sexual experience was jerking off to master/apprentice erotica.

He wanted to grab his cock; oh gods, he wanted to grab his cock, but – he couldn’t; he wouldn’t, not yet.

Stan spread Kyle’s cheeks apart, brusquely, then positioned his cock at Kyle’s entrance, proceeding to enter him, huffing and uttering a deep, low hissing sound as he did so. “Fuck,” he grunted, “fuck, this ass is tight.”

“I told you,” Kyle muttered, panting as his ass was opened up solely by Stan’s cock, “I’m a virgin.”

“Not anymore, you’re not,” Stan said, slowing down a little as he pushed his knot in.

Kyle groaned. Unable to help himself anymore, he grabbed his cock and began pumping like a maniac, but was almost immediately cut off by Stan, who slapped his hand away and said, “Quit it!”

With a whine, Kyle let his hand drop, painfully aware of how thick and full everything felt: his cock, his balls, his ass, oh my gods, his ass: the Worgen was fucking him into the tarp, panting and grunting as he held onto Kyle’s hips and thrust into him in an animal, senseless way, driven by crude, natural instinct. This was what being _bred_ was: being overtaken by a predator in the woods, feeling that knot bulging in his ass and knowing that nature required Stan ejaculate into him, absolutely required it.

There was no way Kyle could stay still; there was no way he couldn’t not touch his dick. He grabbed it again, not even conscious of what sounds he was making as he jerked himself hard and fast. The fear that Stan would notice made it even better, and Kyle came insanely hard, shouting and grinding his ass up into Stan’s cock, clenching around it as he emptied what felt like his entire soul onto the tarp, on and on, again and again. He was just coming down when Stan grunted and began thrusting jaggedly. Then, heaving, he emptied himself into him, pushing all the way in, his pants carrying the soft trace of a canine whine.

A moment later, Stan, still breathless, managed to ask, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said, still breathing hard himself. “Yeah, I’m good.”

When Stan pulled out, he sighed tremendously, then dropped down onto the floor next to Kyle, the bristle of his hair their only connect. It was almost heartbreaking, and Kyle clenched his ass, holding what he’d been given like a memento. But it wasn’t enough, so he shuffled over to Stan and flopped up against him. 

Stan put his arm around him, hoisting him up a little, and then asked, “How’d I do?”

“Good,” Kyle answered. “Really good.”

“Thank gods.”

They sat there for a while longer, until Kyle couldn’t tolerate being filthy for one more minute. So he got up, took off what was left of his robes, and put on the ratty ones he’d stowed here the other day. Stan changed back into his human form, and then they went outside where Kyle began creating a portal to Dalaran so they could go take a desperately needed shower at his apartment.

As Kyle was doing this, Stan stared across the lake, into the distance, and said, “Up ’til two years ago, I had no idea how big the world was. I used to think Gilneas was big.” Then he looked and Kyle and said, “It’s so weird to me that you were right here, just across the lake in Dalaran. For some of that time, at least. You were so close, and I didn’t even know it, because we weren’t allowed to leave.”

Kyle opened his mouth to say that the wall that King Greymane erected to hole off Gilneas after the Second War was so self-serving as to be narcissistic, but Stan went on: “Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really glad to be part of the world now. And I’m really glad I get to experience it with you.”

Kyle’s heart melted, all at once. He stood there, dumbfounded, while Stan smiled at him in that agonizingly sweet way he did, his features illuminated by the blue glow of the portal. Across the lake, in Silverpine’s black woods, the once mighty industrial Kingdom of Gilneas lay in toxic shambles, and at their backs, the crater from which Dalaran had been removed stood as a reminder of the city's destruction a decade ago. But the lake and the shore and the moon were still here, as Stan and Kyle were still here, having crossed the lake per the flow of time and found each other on the same side. Kyle took Stan’s face in his hands and kissed him full on the mouth, then took him home.


End file.
